


Another Gravity

by victoria_p (musesfool)



Category: Firefly
Genre: F/M, Friends to Lovers, Post-Serenity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-04-06
Updated: 2006-04-06
Packaged: 2017-10-21 23:18:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,497
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/230951
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/musesfool/pseuds/victoria_p
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She chose him once, when the 'verse went spinning wrong way up and everything seemed lost, and now she chooses him again.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Another Gravity

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to Laura for the beta.

i.

It's a long time before Zoe takes another man to her bed. First few months, she hadn't even felt the need to touch herself, only longed for Wash's hands, his mouth, his breath on her skin. But a healthy body's got needs, and hers is no different. After a while, she takes to touching herself of a night, but it's a solitary, lonesome thing, and it brings her no lasting satisfaction. She thinks about buying one of those toys Kaylee talks about, but she knows she don't really want batteries and plastic--she wants her husband, and nothing else'll do.

*

ii.

It's a bar on a border moon, same as every other bar on every other border moon, worn wood floors and boarded over windows, and smudged glasses in hands that'll never scrub completely clean. It's the same crowd of cowhands and smugglers lounging around after a hard day's work, washing away the dust in a sea of sour mash whiskey and beer, hard men with hungry stares like to eat her up as she walks past, her own drink in hand.

She could have any one of 'em if she really wanted, and part of her does--longs for the brush of stubble against her cheek, the feel of fingers not her own touching her body, but they ain't none of them the right man. She had the right man and he's gone. She's learning to live with that. She just needs to scratch the itch is all, and for that, maybe any man would do.

As she sits down at the table with Jayne and Mal, Jayne gives her that same lustful look. Well, maybe not any man.

"Keep dreaming," she says, but her mouth curves in a quick smile. She'll never tell him, but his casual lechery is kind of comforting.

"Well, then," he replies, unfazed, "I got my eye on the yellow-haired girl over by the dartboard. Got a sweet little ass, don't she?"

He's gone before either Zoe or the captain can answer, and that's probably best. Mal grins at her, and she's struck by the fact that he's a handsome man. Been too long since she really looked at him, maybe, that it's such a surprise. Better that way, in their situation, but still, his smile sends a shock of heat through her. She shakes her head, but the thought don't go away. Seems like the more she thinks on it, the better he looks.

He takes a long drink and she watches his throat move as he swallows. She decides she's finally gone mad. She also decides she don't really care.

"What?" he asks, putting down his glass. She shakes her head again, laughing, and he laughs with her, though she can tell he don't know why. Feels good to laugh, and to see him laugh, like a weight she didn't even know she'd been carrying's been lifted. "You're making me nervous."

"Let's go back to Serenity, sir," she says, and she can hear it in her voice, can tell he hears it too, by the way his eyes widen, and that gives her another little thrill.

*

iii.

She follows him down into his bunk, and he seems surprised to turn around and find her there. She steps up and he steps back till she's got him trapped between her body and his desk.

"Zoe?" He sounds wary, but even in the low light she can see heat rising in his eyes.

"Can't say you never thought about it," she says, enjoying the way he squirms a little.

"Now, how am I supposed to answer that?" His voice is low and rough; it makes her belly flip. "If I say I haven't, you get offended. If I say I have, I'm a lowdown lecherous hump can't look at a woman without wanting to fuck her. You got me coming and going."

She leans in, whispers in his ear, "Good thing I'm on your side then, ain't it?"

He swallows hard. "Oh, yeah."

But he doesn't close the distance between them, waits for her to put her hands on his shoulders, press her mouth against his, just as he says, "Zoe?" again.

Her name is sweet on his tongue, tastes of whiskey and need and recognition. She knows him, has known him for years, and while they ain't never done this before, they've done damn near everything else two people can do together.

He cups her face in callused hands and looks her in the eye with something like wonder when she breaks the kiss.

Her hands don't shake when she unbuttons his shirt, but she can feel him tremble at every touch, hear the quick, sharp hitch of his breath telling her what he likes, what he wants, and most of all that he wants her. She wants him, too, though she never did before, has pushed it so far down for all the long years they've known each other that every touch of his lips and hands on her body is a revelation, a flare of heat and need, bright and unexpected.

They ease to the bed as one, all their years of moving in time serving them well. She lies back against the pillow that smells of him and reaches out a hand to pull him into her arms when he hesitates.

"You sure?" he murmurs against her temple.

"Wouldn't be here if I weren't."

He huffs a laugh. "True. But I meant--"

"I know what you meant."

His body is lean, rangy, not a spare ounce of flesh on him, but she remembers the days when she could count their ribs through sickly skin--like the walking dead, they were, at the end of it all, but she'd hitched her wagon to his anyway, trusted him to see them through to better things, and he has.

*

iv.

He's darker than Wash, all brown and tan, straight lines, edges and angles, where Wash was soft, milk-white skin and ginger curls, laughter and comfort. And she puts that out of her mind right quick, 'cause this has nothing to do with her and Wash (this is what he'd always thought and feared, and she knows he might not understand, but she don't think he'd hold it against her, either), and everything to do with her and Mal and the way their bodies slip together, smooth as a well-oiled gun.

She lets him be on top 'cause she knows he doesn't need to be, doesn't think it's his rightful place. He moves over her like a benediction, and though she's never been devout, she gasps a few prayerful words at how good it feels, flowing together into one flesh like they've never been anything but.

He ain't rough, but he ain't gentle, neither; he knows a woman ain't a china doll, and don't always need to be treated like one. When she wraps her legs around him and rises up to meet his thrusts, giving and taking in equal measure, he moans into her mouth in delight; she can taste the words in the shape of his lips, _Zoe, Zoe, God, Zoe_. Her last coherent thought is that maybe they don't need God when they're together like this. Then his hand moves between their bodies to touch her, and the tension inside her breaks into a million pieces, sending pleasure rushing through her like water.

She's still aquiver with it, though the waves are softer, deeper, when he comes with a shout. She pulls him into a kiss, swallows it down, holds him together as his world shakes apart.

He collapses on top of her with a satisfied sigh, burying his face in the crook of her neck, and she lies there, enjoying the weight of him pressing her to the bed, to the earth, the only anchor she's got left.

She chose him once, when the 'verse went spinning wrong way up and everything seemed lost. Now she chooses him again.

*

v.

She wakes to find him looking down at her, a question clear in those blue, blue eyes even as his fingers stroke the underside of her breast, make her want to arch into his touch like a cat begging to be petted.

He pushes her hair off her forehead, gentle now the way he wasn't last night, and says, "We don't need to talk about this, do we?"

She answers without hesitation. "Don't think so, no." Talking leads to promises, to regrets, to all sorts of _fèihuà_ neither of them has the time nor the patience for. After what they've been through together, ain't nothing can split them apart; this is just another, different, way of keeping on.

He smiles, which is what started the whole thing, and presses a soft kiss to her lips.

Zoe will never call another man husband, but she's got a man she's proud to call captain and friend, and now, maybe something more than that. She thinks he'll do.

end

*


End file.
